


Objets Trouvés

by heylissaaaaa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, Reader-Insert, Witch!Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylissaaaaa/pseuds/heylissaaaaa
Summary: Objets Trouvés - (n. phrase, French and English) - objects from nature or man-made objects past their intended use, discovered again by chance, that have a certain beauty about themTheir silence was unwanted, too loud in this room full of music and laughter. When next Steve spoke, it was the only thing you could hear - even though you were sure he was whispering. “Who are you?”It was a moment before you could find the words, another before you could make yourself look at them. Nervous anticipation held them still as statues, waiting for the answer they knew was coming. “I am as you are: a relic of the past. Perhaps it is best we leave it that way."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Objets Trouvés

**Author's Note:**

> Written for barnesrogersvstheworld's challenge over on tumblr, with the song prompt "Witchy Woman" by the Eagles.  
This... got away from me, in every way. I really wanted to have it done by Halloween, but that obviously didn't happen. Reader grabbed my idea and took a turn for the angsty, and this is what came out of it. Enjoy!

The Otherside was a place you could only find if you knew where to look. Even then, there was a chance of never finding it at all. 

The bar stood deep in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, through back alleys and down side streets. When it _was_ found, though, it was with the realization that there was nowhere else it could have been. It stood out as much as it settled in. White painted brick that was never less than glowing, heavy velvet curtains that blocked the two large windows on either side of the door. The bar’s name was scrawled in gold filigree on a black board overhead.

In this bar, once a year, every year, there was a party bigger than any other. The Halloween Bash was, for the guests, a night of drinking, dancing, and marvels that were perhaps a touch too real. For you, it was a way to keep busy - tending the bar and keeping an eye on the revelers.

Fairy lights floated unattached overhead in a soft yellows and greens. Fog covered the sunken dance floor and hung thick, though no one could find any machine to make it. At any given time, _things_ would move or shake around the room, delighting drunk customers that never thought too hard about just how their table was floating three inches off the ground.

It was after nine when you were stopped by a petite redhead dressed as a cop, the dress like a second skin and hat slightly askew. 

“Talia, I’m glad you decided to come this year. It will be nice to have you here.” Your gaze strayed behind her, towards the large group occupying tables across the room. You recognized all of them, of course: Iron Man, the Falcon, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch and Vision, and the two super-soldiers. Each was wearing a different costume, though Vision had chosen simply to go as himself. “You’ve brought friends.”

Nat sighed at the note of apprehension in your tone. “Neither of them have any idea it’s you. I couldn’t invite everyone else and not them, sestra, you know that. We needed a place to unwind, let loose. And you didn’t say I couldn’t bring people,” she said. Reaching across the bar, she took one of your hands in hers. “You should talk to them. It might-”

“They may stay, but you will leave it alone, _sestra_.” You gave her hand a squeeze before disentangling your own.

“Fine, fine.” She pushed up from the counter and turned so that she could lean her hip against it. “Just give me two pitchers for the boys and two of those Vampire’s Kisses for me and Wanda.”

You felt two pairs of curious blue eyes tracking your movements as you dipped the rims of the martini glasses in red sugar. Setting them down on the counter a little harder than necessary, you huffed out a breath at the amusement in Nat’s smile. “You really want to mess with a witch on Halloween, Talia?”

She took a piece of candy from one of the bowls on the counter and unwrapped it. “I just want you to be happy,” she said, popping the sweet in her mouth.

“And providing me an excuse not to leave the city tomorrow would just be a bonus, hmm?” You poured the ingredients into a shaker before straining them into the glass, floating the other half of the raspberry liqueur over the back of the spoon.

“Love the dress, by the way,” she said, changing the subject with a wink and a smirk. The garment in question was black velvet and lace, floor-length and curve hugging in all the right places. A bit impractical, maybe, but it was your party and you could do what you wanted. The complimenting witch’s hat sat atop your head. “Those boys of yours will drop dead when they see it.”

Your traitor heart lurched at the thought before you shook your head. “They are mine no longer. If you need help bringing over the pitchers, grab Lily.”

The next hour or so was spent with eyes on you. There were dozens of people packed in the room, but even in the sea of drunken, gyrating bodies, _all_ of the Avengers found the wherewithal to stare. They didn’t approach you yet, sending Natasha or going to one of the other bartenders for drinks. You were a mystery to them, a “friend” of Natasha’s without so much as a name. She meant it in good faith, to protect you, but superheroes were a nosy bunch. They danced and laughed and drank with the rest of the partygoers, but it was only a matter of time before they turned you into a recon mission. You weren’t sure what you would do then.

The billionaire and the archer were the first to make their way over to you at the bar. The latter was familiar; with how close you and Natasha were, how could he not be? Sliding onto two open barstools, they waited while you finished candy apple cocktails for a couple dressed like Jack Skellington and Sally.

“Clint, nice to see you again,” you said, stopping in front of them. He had come as Robin Hood, and if you remembered anything about his daughter, she’d definitely had a say in his costume choice. “How are your children?”

He returned her smile with one of his own. Reaching underneath his green tunic, he pulled out his wallet to show her a picture of his babies. “Good. I’m guessing Nat told you about Nathaniel?”

“Yes, she was quite upset.”

Tony Stark turned to him with narrowed eyes. “_She_ knew?” he asked. You were well aware how secretive Clint was about his family. When Nat finally convinced him to let you meet everyone, you had sworn to protect them if the need ever arose. “And I’m guessing you know her name?”

You answered before Clint could. “He does. Why is that of any consequence?”

“Because Natasha refuses to tell us. It’s been a _thing_ around the office for a while now.” He looked at you as if to say _you know how it is_, like that would get you to tell him. He was dress as a vampire, very classic with the ruffled dress shirt and black vest, long flowing cape and stick-on fangs.

“Names are very important. Knowing the name of something gives you power over it. It’s not a privilege I like giving to many,” you explained. You didn’t expect them to understand, most didn’t these days. But your power, your magic, had in large part to do with words, so you always had to be careful how you used them.

Down the counter, more revelers were lining up to order drinks. “Unless you’re going to ask for a drink, I have to go.”

You had just turned away when Tony said, “Surprise me.” There was a challenge in his smile, but you simply dipped your head and got to work. Setting a Collins glass down on the counter, you went around pulling out various ingredients. Tony kept up the conversation while you worked. “So, this is your place?”

Lining up different shot glasses of Corner Creek bourbon, St. Germain, and lemon juice, you pulled out a can of ginger beer as well. “For now,” you said, concentrating more on the drink than the question.

“What does that mean?”

You filled the Collins glass with ice and poured everything in one after the other, topping it with the bitters. “I try never to remain in one place for very long.” You pushed the cocktail towards him, and offered him a straw. “It’s a skeleton key.” Tony forwent the straw and sipped straight from the glass. A bold choice because of the bitters, but it didn’t seem to faze him as much as it would someone else. He let out an appreciative whistle. Your smile was wicked, sultry, as you turned away the second time. “Enjoy your evening, gentlemen, but I have other orders to take.”

Clint waved and dragged Tony away, leaving you to your work. It was about forty-five minutes before the next pair braved your counter. Wanda, with Vision in tow, waved you over. Dressed as Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_, she smiled at you as if you were already friends. It was as endearing as it was off-putting. “Whatever Nat just brought me was really good. Can I have another?” she asked.

“Of course.” You moved around behind the bar, making her another candy corn cocktail.

They watched you for a moment before Vision said, “I have a question, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Depends on the question.”

“The lights and the… floating things. How are you doing that?” He looked behind him after asking the question, as if making sure it was all still there.

“Magic.”

“Truly? Were you born with your abilities then?” he asked. Wanda looked curious too, leaning on the counter with her chin resting on her hands. You knew how she had come by her powers, and you pitied her in a way. No one should have that kind of power forced on them, by people like that. You’d had your own dealings with Hydra and their ilk, in your time, so you understood a little of what that was like.

You set the glass down in front of her and her eyes lit up. “It has always been my way of life, so in a way I suppose I was born with them,” you said. Both looked eager to hear more of what you had to say, though there was that over-cautious part of you that warned this was dangerous territory. You had always had a soft spot for knowledge-seekers. “My homeland has deep roots in magic, in keeping with the old ways. My family in particular has always been one to follow those traditions. In doing so, my gods have given us magic.”

Wanda took her glass and stood, her free arm linking through Vision’s. “Thank you, for the drink and the answer. Have a good evening.”

You nodded and moved down the line to a group of girls dressed like the characters from _Totally Spies_.

At half-past eleven, Natasha came with the rest of the group that had not approached the bar yet. She had an arm around Sam Wilson, leading him towards where you were filling up a pitcher for another table. Steve and Bucky trailed behind. All three men were dressed the same in flowing capes, fake cutlasses, and wide-brimmed hats with feathers. The Three Musketeers.

“Talia, how are you finding everything?” you asked, setting down the rag you had been wiping the counter with.

“Me and Sammy want to try one of those bright green things with the glowstick. They look fun,” she said. Her words were smoother than before, but her eyes were as clear as ever. You knew it would take much more than she’d had to get her drunk. Which meant it was an act, a show. The only thing you couldn’t figure out was to what end.

“Two Halloween hypnotists, then.” You hesitated before looking past them at Steve and Bucky. “Anything for you two?”

“We’re alright, ma’am,” Steve said. When you smiled at him, he blinked. Looked a little closer. Glanced at Bucky with a look that was in itself an entire conversation.

“You must really like Halloween, huh? This party is crazy,” Sam said, leaning heavy against the bar.

“Do you know what Halloween really is, beyond all the costumes and candy? It’s a time to remember the dead, a time when the veil between this world and the next is thin enough for the deceased to gain passage,” you said. Pouring the ingredients into a shaker with some ice, it was a moment before you continued. “Where I come from, it’s tradition that the morning is spent in mourning. But the evening is for celebration. Remembering the lives that those before us lived, and embracing our own before we join them.”

You were so busy straining the drinks into two martini glasses that you didn’t notice the next look that passed between Steve and Bucky. Natasha and Sam took their drinks and disappeared into the crowd without looking back to see if their companions were following. Which they weren’t, instead still standing at the bar with their heads bent together. Every few seconds one of them would look over at you while you pretended not to notice.

Having come to some sort of decision, the two of them took a seat at the bar, large frames braced against the lip of the counter. You saw the gears in their heads as they each examined you. There was a puzzle to be solved, and your boys had always been clever. “So, how do you know Nat? She never really said,” Steve started, trying to keep his voice only conversationally interested.

For a moment, a hot flash of anger bolted through you. The tables around the room shook violently, and a glass fell off the table before you could control yourself. Across the room, Nat had stood up from her table, ready to restrain or protect you as needed. You shook your head.

You wanted them to know. You need them to hear what happened to you after they _left_ you. “We met when we were younger.”

Bucky flinched ever so slightly. “You mean like-?”

“Yes. I mean like.” The anger left as soon as it arrived, and all you felt after was tired. You wanted to move away, go back to serving drinks and watching the party. You wanted to spend the night the way you had planned. But they looked at you and you were rooted to the spot, anchored by them. They’d always been able to do that.

There was grim excitement in Steve’s voice when he asked, “Are you Russian, then?”

“No.”

“American?” Bucky asked. The pieces were falling faster than you could snatch them away, and you knew you were lost.

“No,” you said. Bucky set his mouth in a thin line and you were answering before you could stop yourself, “I grew up in France, though my mother was Scottish.”

Their silence was unwanted, too loud in this room full of music and laughter. When next Steve spoke, it was the only thing you could hear - even though you were sure he was whispering. “Who are you?”

It was a moment before you could find the words, another before you could make yourself look at them. Nervous anticipation held them still as statues, waiting for the answer they knew was coming. You couldn’t give it to them. “I am as you are: a relic of the past. Perhaps it is best we leave it that way,” you pleaded. It was your last line of defense. You turned away.

“Please,” Bucky said.

And then he said your name.

You froze, unable even to breathe. He said it again, his voice broken with desperation and wild hope. It was a moment before you realized you were crying. Finally drawing air into your lungs, you made your way over to the other bartenders to announce that you would be heading home to your apartment upstairs. It was after midnight now, and Halloween was over. The lights and fog would remain until two am, at which point the rest of your staff could close up and go home.

There were eyes on your back as you rounded the corner of the counter and started towards the exit. You found Natasha again, this time on the dance floor. She nodded at you encouragingly, mouthing _Good luck_ before turning back to her dance partner.

You didn’t say anything as you stepped outside, the crisp air of the night jarring after the heavy heat of the packed bar. Steve and Bucky came out after you, silent as you fumbled with the keys to the side door that would take you upstairs. You went up first.

Alistair, your one-eyed black cat, was at the door when you pushed it open, yowling for something. You stepped out of your heeled boots and scratched behind his ear. Bucky shut the door behind all three of you and then the silence was back. You took off your witch’s hat and left it on the kitchen table, pointed the super-soldiers to the living room couch across the large open space.

Padding on silent feet, you went into the bedroom to change out of your dress and take off your makeup. They were sitting when you returned, hats and fake swords laid out on the coffee table. Alistair was settled in Bucky’s lap, a picture that made your heart beat funny. You took the chair adjacent to the couch, drawing your knees up against your chest. “Let’s have it then,” you said.

There was another conversation of glances between them before Steve started. “How long have you been in the city?” he asked.

“This time? Three months. Before that, not for two years.” It was the one place you kept coming back to, no matter how many times you tried to stay away. You always told yourself it was to see Nat, and that it had nothing to do with a certain promise made to you by two American soldiers.

“Did you know we were here?” Bucky asked the next question.

You picked at a loose thread in your pajama bottoms, hoping if you pulled hard enough perhaps you would unravel with it. “Yes.”

They both started the same question, but Bucky got it out first, pain in every word. “Why didn’t you come find us?”

“Would you have wanted to see me if I had?” you asked, tone bitter and cold. They looked as if you’d slapped them across the face.

“Of course we would have. Why would you ever think otherwise?” Steve’s voice was achingly gentle. He voiced your name on a plea. “We thought you were dead. We _mourned _you.”

Your head snapped up and you bared your teeth at them, sparks dancing across your fists. Alistair jumped up from his place in Bucky’s lap and instead wedged himself between your bent legs and your chest. He bumped his head into your collarbone, and it knocked loose your anger. “If you want to talk, that’s fine. But do not lie to me, Steven. It’s unfair to all of us.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you acting like this?” Bucky demanded, picking up his own anger now. Of your two boys, he had seen you first, _loved_ you first. You were one of the first memories that came back to him, after Steve. Long hair down past wide hips, a white gown dirty around the hem, bare feet seen through the scope of a rifle.

You and your family had ambushed the Howling Commandos in the woods of southern France, demanding to know who they were and what they were doing in your home. Thirteen women, you among them; a coven of witches. You’d given them shelter, food, tended to their wounds. And when Hydra came, you helped them fight using your magic. The enemy was looking to capture your coven, gain an edge in the losing battle. You and your sisters were long-lived, meaning if they could find a way to tame you, you would be able to serve their purposes far beyond the war.

The Howling Commandos stayed in those woods for four months, more than enough time for you - a young witch with very little worldly experience - to fall in love with not one but two of its members.

All of that changed in the span of one terrible night.

“You left me, both of you. I waited for you to come and get me and neither of you came,” you said. You were crying again, and you swiped a stubborn hand over your face. “In the end, that was how they broke me. I was weak, near dead, still reeling from loss. They told me you watched them take me; they told me you stood aside.”

Steve, ever the level-headed one, sat on the edge of the couch. His fingers twitched like he might reach out for you. “You mean in the Red Room? That’s where they took you?” he asked, though he needn’t have bothered. All three of you knew the answer. “Sweetheart, if we had known you survived, of course we would have looked for you. You have to believe us.”

You shook your head as if that might stop the words from reaching your ears. You didn’t want any more lies. “They found a way to control my abilities and then they put me through the training with all the other girls. When I was perfect, they kept me on as an instructor, using me to make the girls complacent and pliable. For decades they made me break those girls, turning them into shells of themselves. Until I met Natalia. I saw in her the best of my own sisters, long gone, and I knew I couldn’t leave her to the same fate. I tried to protect her, and she protected me in turn. She set me free, in the end, though she would not come with me.”

“And after?” Steve asked.

“I went hunting.” You buried your hands in Alistair’s fur, needing a distraction for whatever the next part of this conversation entailed. “They killed my sisters, and with their deaths came a curse that I will spend the rest of my life seeing through.”

Bucky had gone quiet, his expression stormy. “I remember you. They sent me to kill you.”

“More than once,” you agreed. Every time you caused _excessive _damage, they’d send the Winter Soldier to try again. He’d nearly succeeded a few of those times, too. Especially once you learned who he was. “I didn’t know it was you, not for a very long time.”

“You tried to save me,” Bucky said, his voice hollow and distant as he was wracked with memories. A base under attack, red flashing lights in the dark, and your voice. _Oh, my sweet soldier, look what they’ve done to you. _Sirens, the sound of boots on concrete. _Merde, there isn’t enough time. I will find a way to save you, I promise. All I can do now is take away the pain_.

You were nodding, reliving the same memories he was. “I started putting my own… reminders in your head, every time they sent you after me. Sights and sounds and smells that would bring _you_ back. It was quicker to put them in than to take anything out. I had hoped to find one strong enough, to bring enough of you back, that you could break free on your own.” You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, stroking over Alistair’s back. “The last time I saw you was in 2011, a couple months after the news broke that Steve was alive. I knew he would be able to bring you back, and I was right.”

“Why couldn’t _you_ bring me back?”

“You met me when you were scared and angry and confused, when you spent half your time thinking you were going to die. You would never have fought to get back to that,” you said. It was one of the most heartbreaking realizations you’d come to, second only to the one that Hydra – after you’d thought they couldn’t take anything else from you – managed to prove you wrong yet again. You cleared your throat. “But the version of you that went dancing, and dragged your best friend on double-dates to perhaps see him smile? The version of you that marveled at science fairs and had dreams greater than bullets and trenches? Anyone would fight for that.”

“I would have fought for you.” The conviction in his voice made your breath catch, and your heart fractured. It sounded so much like he _believed_ that, but that couldn’t be right.

Outside, a car alarm went off, sending your heart into your throat. You huffed out a breath, soothing Alistair who was irritated at being jostled. Steve watched the interaction, watched _you_, and worried. “So, what happens now?” he asked. _How long before you disappear again?_

“I’m leaving the city tomorrow.”

His heart sank. A quick glance at Bucky revealed he wasn’t handling the situation much better. “Why?” he asked.

You wouldn’t look at them, your face blank and emotionless as you gazed outside at the flickering streetlights. “Been here too long.”

“You can’t go. We just got you back.” Steve’s voice broke, and he was finding it hard to breathe. He was acquainted with loss, intimately so, but God if it didn’t hurt just as fiercely every time. Except, this time there might be something he could do about. There had to be.

“You want me to stay?” Traitorous hope bloomed in your chest, sturdy and stubborn. In a last attempt to protect yourself against it, you let it all out. “No, you- you _left_. You left and I learned to be okay on my own. I’m _okay_ on my own. Then you _both_ came back and it was like the gods were tempting me, punishing me for everything I’ve done. And I’d accepted that, it was my penance to pay. Y-you don’t _want_ me; you can’t just come back and tell me you love me like none of that even h-happened.”

Unable to stand the distance any longer, both men got off the couch and sank to their knees in front of you. They pulled your legs away from your chest, uncurled your fists threatening to break skin. One of them took Alistair from your lap and set him on the floor. Warm hands wiped the tear tracks from your face, pushed your hair back behind your ears. You tried both to push them away and pull yourself free; neither worked.

Bucky called your name, a plea and an admonition. “Stop, stop. It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re not going to leave you, never again. I promise,” he said. He had one of your hands in his and he pressed his lips to each fingertip.

“Say you’ll stay with us, too, baby, please.” Steve had your other hand, running his thumb over the back. “You make us whole.”

You looked at them, your two soldiers. They looked older, weathered by the decades since you’d met them, but then Steve smiled at you and you were back in another time, another place, another life. “Okay,” you breathed.

Steve surged forward, hand coming up to cup the back of your head, He claimed your lips in a kiss that tasted like home, the one you had been both running from and running to for decades. A whimper caught in the back of your throat when he finally pulled away. “Sweetheart, let us show you. Let us remind you how much we love you,” he said. His voice was lower, rougher, absolutely wrecked already. He free hand was on your waist, pinky stroking the skin between your tank top and pajama pants.

“_Please_.” You were so overwhelmed, by exhaustion and need and warmth, that you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. But they knew. Your boys always knew.

Steve let you go and got to his feet. You started to voice your protest, but he silenced it with a kiss to your forehead. As soon as he pulled away, Bucky was there, still on his knees and crowding himself between your legs. His kiss was slower, gentler, but just as consuming. You let him in on a sigh that he drank in greedily. An arm around your waist pulled you to the edge of the chair, molded you to him and you might have wept again at the contact.

“Buck,” Steve called from somewhere down the hallway. Another arm under your bottom, lifting you off the chair without ever breaking the kiss. You wrapped both arms and legs around him as he followed Steve’s voice blindly.

You landed softly on your bed, looking up at your two soldiers. “You could have just asked,” you said.

Steve shrugged, gave a smile that lit up the room. “You were busy.”

They undressed you and each other together, catching your hands when you tried to help and laying them back against the bed. _This is for you_, they said, _all for you_. They took you apart in tandem, curled up against Bucky’s chest with Steve between your legs. It was a worshiping and a claiming, an apology and a reaffirmation. You were panting, mewling, right on the edge of implosion when Bucky kissed her shoulder and whispered in your ear, “It’s alright, darlin’. Just let go; we’ll catch you.” You arched back against him as your vision whited-out, weaving your fingers in Steve’s hair as he did everything in his power to drive you even higher.

Bucky was the first to take you, rolling you under him and pushing in slow. With each glide of his hips he kissed you, feather-light pecks to your cheeks, your eyelids, your temples. His eyes were silver-rimmed when he smiled down at you, breathing your name like a prayer. Both of you found release on a battle of lips and tongue, breaking apart only to rest your foreheads together.

Just like in the living room, as soon as Bucky moved away, Steve was there, making sure you were never left alone for more than a second. He kissed the corner of your mouth as he entered you, sighing almost as if in relief. The pace was no faster than before, letting you feel every inch of him. When he was close, he snaked a hand between you and you jolted, a soft low whine escaping your throat. “One more for me, sweetheart. I know you can,” he murmured, kissing your forehead.

When the three of you were sated, they cleaned you up and tucked you in, fitting themselves on either side of you. You were on your stomach, head pillowed on your arms and staring at the backboard of the bed frame. Bucky traced circles over your bare back. The metal was cold against your heated skin and made you shiver.

On your other side, Steve was playing with your hair. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

You let out a breath and turned over onto your back, nestling further into their embrace. “I was thinking that tomorrow I will have to take extra time to commune with my gods. This Halloween they have seen it fit to return my dead to me.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss to your cheek, Bucky doing the same. Their murmured _I love you_’s followed you into your dreams.


End file.
